Seven Deadly Sins
by TJ Sparkles
Summary: Chaptered, from Sin's list of story ideas: Seven WWE Superstars. With just one look, you'd never imagine the trangressions that they commit on a daily basis. But take a closer look, and you'll find that none of them are what they appear. R&R please.
1. Pride

**A/N: Thanks to Sin (Sinfully Sined) for this idea, which I got from her list of story starters. The original idea for this was to write a chaptered fic featuring the Seven Deadly Sins, with each sin representing a particular wrestler. I figured I'd give it a shot. Please read and review—your reviews are very important to me and give me the inspiration to continue! That being said, I hope you enjoy!**

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_Chapter 1: Pride—Chris Jericho_

"_Pride goeth before destruction, and a haughty spirit before a fall."—Proverbs 16:18_

I am the best in the world at what I do.

You are all so quick to renounce this claim, instead arguing that John Cena or Batista, or even Shawn Michaels, the pompous hypocrite himself, are far better in this world of sports-entertainment than I am. That's fine; I expect that from you. You are all an assemblage of nothing more than liars and cheaters. You know that I am an honest man, a good man, and that is why you boo me. You can't stand the fact that someone other than your precious Cena garners so much attention. I think every single one of you is afraid that I'm going to be the one to unseat Cena from his throne as the golden boy of the WWE, forever. I have done it once, and I will do it again, and no amount of cheering will change that. You can all rest assured that when I say I am going to do something, I _do _it.

No one in the WWE even comes _close _to my level of skill or my passion for the business. Name me one person who has as much experience and is as well-versed in the ring as I am. I'm quite certain that none of you can say with confidence that John Cena would be on par with me in the ring. How you all cheered week after week for a man that only possesses an arsenal of five moves in his repertoire is beyond me.

You deny it now, but from the minute I departed from the WWE, each and every one of you wanted me to return. I teased my return for months, with promos and denials of returning every time I was questioned. But in the end, I felt like I had no choice to return. After all, you all demanded it, and I was all too happy to oblige.

I decided to return because you were all so desperate for a savior, a knight in shining armor—a person that would rescue you from the monotony you experienced from week to week. All of you were practically begging for someone to enlighten you, thrill you, and provide you with the entertainment you so desperately craved.

So I came back, eager to once again deliver that excitement to you, to be the Highlight of the Night, the Savior of the WWE, to entertain all of you. And at first, you greeted me with open arms. It felt like I was returning back to my home after being away for many years. But then January came, and my return was all but forgotten, when John Cena made his return at the Royal Rumble. Like the pathetic, mindless sheep that you are, you all abandoned the one person whose sole purpose was to provide you with nothing less than what you deserved—an entertainer who could evoke excitement and passion in you, one who could bring out feelings that you hadn't experienced in ages. You were all desperate for that, and I was all too eager to deliver. But I slowly began to realize that you people really didn't want that. You immediately changed the tune once John Cena returned.

I have never lied to any of you—I don't lie. I always do what I set out to accomplish, be it winning the World Heavyweight Championship (twice this year, I should add), becoming the first ever Undisputed Champion by beating The Rock and Stone Cold in the same night, or otherwise. Even when the odds are stacked against me, I come out on top. You should all praise me for my tenacity, because after all, I am the most talented person, the most skilled showman, on the roster. Each week, I'm put into matches with people who couldn't wrestle at a four-year-old child's birthday party—John Cena, Batista, and many others—and yet you all manage to find them entertaining. I deserve all the credit for that, because I make those generic Superstars look like they can wrestle.

Yet no matter what I do, no matter how hard I give my all week after week, you all ostracize me and boo me and say that I'm a jerk, that I win by cheap means, and that I need to go away. I don't know if that's pure stupidity on the part of all you fans, but you should be lauding me for what I do. After all, I am the best in the world at what I do, and I am easily the best in the WWE.

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**I hate it, but I hope you guys enjoy =) The next chapter should be up soon!**


	2. Wrath

**A/N: Blame Supernatural for this one.**

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_Chapter 2: Wrath—Randy Orton_

"_Men often make up in wrath what they want in reason."—William R. Alger_

Unchecked wrath can destroy a man's soul and burn his insides. But controlled and channeled properly, wrath can help motivate a person and give him the extra push needed to achieve anything he wants, be it personal goals or otherwise. Depending on the person, wrath can help him or ruin him, causing him to become a shell of a person.

Randy Orton was definitely a prime example of what unchecked wrath could do to a man. In his prime, when he had been much younger, and hungrier, Randy had never hesitated in going after what he wanted. Pure adrenaline alone drove him to win many of his matches, and the fact that he came from a family of Superstars only helped that much more. In short, wrath didn't play much of a part in his life. The Missouri native didn't need it.

But after being booted from Evolution, Randy began to change. He grew quieter, only speaking when absolutely necessary, and meaner. His finishing maneuver, which was already quite devastating to begin with, somehow became more lethal. Randy adopted the art of stalking while in the ring, often sneaking up behind his opponents and laying them out with the RKO before they even knew what had hit them. He also eliminated all distractions from his life, such as the lovely, leggy Stacy Keibler, his former girlfriend, so that he could focus solely on becoming the WWE Champion. Even though he became an unimaginable, cruel person, very few of the Superstars could deny the fact that Randy's methods worked.

With nothing but the prize—that is, the WWE Championship—in his sights, Randy continued to upset Superstar after Superstar each week, almost causing a riot when he defeated his long-time nemesis, the personification of all that was good within the WWE, John Cena. If he closed his eyes, Randy could remember the match perfectly. The roar of the crowd when John's music played, the boos he elicited from the crowd as he slowly made his way down the entrance ramp, and even the total and complete silence once the match was over and the referee had raised his hand in victory. He hadn't been surprised, although the crowd obviously had. Randy had sharpened and honed his skills over the past few months, and that, coupled with his newfound ambition and motivation, almost ensured that he'd win.

Randy wasn't friends with any of the Superstars, and quite frankly, he preferred it that way. The way he saw it, friends and girlfriends only got in the way and threw you off from what mattered, and he couldn't have any of that. He knew that the other guys thought that he felt they were inferior to him, and he couldn't deny that it was true. _A true champion walks alone_, he would tell himself. _And yeah, it probably will be lonely at the top, but so what? You are a third-generation Superstar, you don't need anyone. _The negative thoughts always seemed to disappear after that.

Obsession quickly began to take over Randy's life, and that's when he truly changed for the worse. Whereas the wrath had helped him in the past, this time it was beginning to destroy him. His constant obsession with John Cena and winning the title back from him, or whoever had it at the time (Triple H would later win the title and take it with him to Smackdown), slowly began to drive him crazy. In turn, his in-ring performance began to suffer as well, leading to constant losses or disqualifications. Gone was the Randy Orton of the past, the one that had dubbed himself "The Legend Killer." In his place was a demented, unstable man who took great joy in inflicting as much pain upon his opponents as possible. Many times, he took his wrath too far and ended up seriously hurting the other guys. He even punted Ted Dibiase, Jr. in the head and put him out of commission for an undisclosed amount of time, and didn't think twice about it. Many of the younger guys, like Cody Rhodes and Manu, were in awe of Randy's preoccupation with power, and quickly aligned themselves with him in hopes of making it to the top without doing much work in the process. Randy allowed them to join him, but made it quite clear that he was the one in charge, and that it would be better if they were better seen and not heard. Again, no distractions of any sort were allowed.

The wrath that Randy let build up inside of himself eventually drove him past the breaking point, and many Superstars refused to work a match with him because they were genuinely afraid that Randy would snap inside the ring and actually hurt them even more severely than he had the others. The man had very little self-control, and showed mercy to no one.

Over the course of his six-year career in the WWE, Randy Orton evolved from a smug, cocky heel to a psychotic, uncaring, vengeful maniac. This evolution was by accident; however, once he went over the brink into full-fledged madness, there was no saving him. Randy Orton had become what no one expected, and there wasn't a damn thing anyone could do about it. The constant unchecked wrath that he'd harbored ate away at his insides and transformed him completely, forever.

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**Thanks to all that reviewed: **_Kennedy's Friday Night Delight_, _ChristianFever22_, _And_, _Joanna,_ _Missy,_ and _Dori._ **You guys are AWESOME! Keep those reviews coming and enjoy the following chapters!**


	3. Gluttony

**A/N: My apologies to any Miz fans. A SUPER HUGE shout-out goes out to my awesome, kick-ass, amazing twinny (purplefeather21) for all her help with this chapter. Thank you twinny!! R&R please, guys, and I hope you enjoy! **

**Additional note: Flashbacks and past events are in italics.**

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_Chapter 3: Gluttony—The Miz_

_"Gluttony is an emotional escape, a sign something is eating us."—Peter De Vries_

**Extreme.** There was no other word that properly described the young man from Ohio. Mike Mizanin lived his life to excess in every aspect, from his professional career to his personal life. He was a fairly easygoing guy off-screen—in fact, his loud, cocky, brash onscreen persona of the Miz was a complete 180 from the way he normally was around people—and many of the other Superstars viewed him as a guy that had his head on his shoulders and was very focused on his career. Contrary to what people believed, however, there was a more serious, darker side to Miz, one that he kept well-hidden from others. He really didn't associate with the other Superstars; instead he chose to keep to himself. The other Superstars noticed this, although they rarely called him on it. But one time, after a taping, Melina had cornered Mike and asked him, point blank, why he never wanted to hang around with the others.

"_Hey Mike, I have a question for you." Melina asked him once, in a club. After much poking and prodding, she had been able to get the self-proclaimed Chick Magnet to join the rest of them for a post-show celebration. It hadn't been easy though—Melina had likened the experience to pulling teeth. _

"_Sure, go ahead," he replied with a nod._

"_What do you do after house shows and television tapings? You never hang out with us." she noted._

"_I uh..." he started, but Batista came to his defense._

"_Baby, it's none of our business what he does in his spare time." he defended the young man, and made the young woman drop it._

Unfortunately though, that wasn't the first or last time someone brought up the subject. Mike didn't understand why the rest of the Superstars and Divas couldn't just let it drop. It wasn't that he didn't like them, or that he thought he was better than them, or anything like that. As The Miz, he was confident and always had a comeback for everything. But Mike was 100% different, in every way, shape, and form.

When his best friend and tag team partner, John Morrison, was around, none of the Superstars said a word about Mike's distaste for hanging around them. But as soon as John was gone, the whispers and the taunts began. Most of the guys tried to avoid the gossip, instead preferring to focus on their matches or other business. However, there were a few who just could not let the issue alone. The Legend Killer himself, Randy Orton, was one of the bullies in the back who loved to insinuate that Mizanin thought he was "too good" to spend time with them.

"_Well, well, well, look at what we have here. Mike Mizanin. The guy that thinks he's too good to be seen with the rest of us." Randy Orton taunted. "What do you do anyways?"_

"_Shut up, Orton." he growled. "Besides, what are you? My nanny or something? It's none of your business." he replied coolly, making the locker room become quiet._

There were even times he heard the Divas speculate why he never spent more time than needed be at the arena, or he always seemed so jumpy and tense. His behavior over the past few months had changed drastically, and some suspected that this sudden change in behavior was due to drugs. Mike heard all the whispers, but he didn't speak up or defend himself. What was the point, really? No matter what he did or said, people were going to formulate their own opinions anyway.

"_Why do you think he always seems so secretive?" The former WWE Divas' Champion, Michelle McCool guessed._

"_Maybe he's you know….from the other side?" Brie Bella replied._

"_Who knows." her twin shrugged. "It's not like he spends the little time he does with us talking about what he does outside of wrestling."_

Then, because of his look, he had people second guessing him. How did he get bigger, muscle-wise when he was so skinny? That was one of the questions he got the most from both his co-workers and fans. In such a short amount of time, Mike had gained quite a bit of weight, almost to the point where he was unrecognizable. Gone was the buff physique that he had worked so hard for. It was heartbreaking to see Mike let himself go, and the saddest part of the entire ordeal was that no one even suspected how much he was suffering. His friends and co-workers knew that something was going on beneath the façade he tried to put on, but because he rarely spoke to anyone, the problem remained hidden. Even his family had been worried about him at one point or another, his sister Emily especially. At the post-party celebration for Wrestlemania 24, Emily had voiced her concern as gently as possible without sounding too questioning.

"_Hey, baby bro, you know I love you, right?" his sister asked._

"_Yeah." he responded, laughing at his sister's sudden serious tone._

"_I love you, and I support you in every decision you take, and you know that. But," she started, "Are you okay? You seem to be eating a lot more than usual at mom's parties and stuff." _

"_It's nothing, really," the Ohio native responded. He smiled at his sister and chucked her under the chin playfully. "You don't need to worry, it's nothing. I just decided to stop working out as much." It was the perfect lie, one that Mike knew would be believable, and so his sibling reluctantly dropped the issue._

Mike struggled with confiding in someone about his problem, mainly because he really didn't know who he could trust not to judge him, and also because he wasn't really sure what to say. Was he addicted to drugs? Yes, but they weren't recreational or prescription drugs. His drugs of choice were food and drink, two of the most important things needed to survive. No one ever thought of food and drink as a drug, because one needed it and consumed them in their everyday life, but for Mike Mizanin, they were his worst enemy and completely detrimental to his health. The next question would be how to treat this addiction. With a typical drug addiction, such as cocaine, the solution was relatively simple: check into rehab, learn coping strategies to deal with the problem, and apply those in everyday life. Avoid the drug and situations where the drug will be present and everything should be fine. But how can one avoid food? If a person goes for very long without eating, he will surely starve to death.

For once in his life, Mike had hit a crossroads: he could either continue on his current path, eating and drinking to excess, letting his body take the punishment, or he could go seek help and tackle this problem with the help of another person. The latter option scared him to death, but after weeks of careful thinking, he decided that it was the healthier option. He wanted kids and a wife someday, and he knew that if he continued on this dangerous path, that would never happen.

Mike was nervous about seeking out treatment—actually, downright scared to death would be a more accurate description—but he was determined to beat this and once again be the life of the party, the man that his fellow Superstars loved to be around. Because after all, he resided at the Palace of Wisdom, and as he and his fellow Dirt Sheet host frequently stated, fatties were not allowed at the Palace of Wisdom. Mike knew the journey wasn't going to be easy, but he had faith that he could do it. Besides, he owed it to the hoard of Mizfits to once again become The Real Deal Sex Appeal. No longer would this disease eat away at his insides—he was going to become confident with himself again.

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**Thanks to my crazy awesome, wonderful reviewers: **_Missy, Vera, J, wrestlefan4, Dori, Robbells, Kennedy's Friday Night Delight, And, Liv, Sin, ChristianFever22, Sunny, Twinny, Kat, Chic (slut-faced ho-bag, LOL) and Gabbi. _

**You guys are AWESOME!**


	4. Envy

**A/N: A/N: Sorry for taking so long to update. Classes for me begin on the 20****th****, so I've been trying to get that whole mess sorted out. Oh, and I just posted a Jaria oneshot, called "Love is Pain". Check it out, you might just like! As always, please R&R and let me know what you thought about this chapter!**

**I had fun with this one. I actually think I did okay with it :)**

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_Chapter 4: Envy—Chavo Guerrero_

_"Envy eats nothing but its own heart"—German Proverb_

Who does that asshole think he is? I am a Guerrero; _I'm _the one with the pedigree and the years of experience running through my veins. Not him. I'm sick of standing by and watching idly while he tries to cash in on my family name, like a snake in the grass. I'm not stupid, and I see what he's trying to do by seducing my Aunt Vickie. Well, I think Mr. Copeland needs to know that regardless of his status with my aunt, he will _never_ be a Guerrero.

I am the one who's held multiple titles in both WCW and WWE, both on my own and with my uncle—the man I considered _mi hermano_, my brother—Eddie. I should be the one getting the glory, the recognition for my accomplishments, and the numerous title shots, not him. But of course Vickie buys into the bullshit Edge is spewing to her, so that's why. After the death of my uncle, Vickie was a broken woman. She never left her house and she wouldn't answer phone calls—she stayed in her bedroom all day long, crying until she couldn't anymore. Finally, after a lot of begging and pleading, she decided that getting involved with the business might not be such a bad idea after all. I know, I know, you all think it was a mistake to push the woman into the very business that claimed the life of her husband, but she wanted to. I didn't force her into anything. And for a while, it seemed like working as the General Manager on SmackDown was the perfect choice. She got to spend time with her family, be happy, and forget about her problems. Slowly, as the months passed, she began to get that smile back and her vigor for life. I held the Cruiserweight Championship before it was finally vacated, and the two of us grew closer as a family. We were able to finally move on from Eddie's death.

I gotta hand it to the guy, Edge picked the perfect time to swoop in and effectively snatch my aunt's heart. The moment he entered our lives, she was instantly besotted with him. All I ever heard was "Edge this" and "Edge that", from Vickie. She acted as if he was the greatest Superstar on the roster, when she hadn't even known who he was six months earlier. That chump wined her and dined her, and I was fine with it at first, because she seemed happy, and after Eddie's death, I felt she deserved it. Seeing that smile she used to always have on her face present again made me happy. I had my suspicions about Edge, but he seemed to genuinely care about Vickie—God knows they were making out at every available opportunity—so I let it drop.

Big mistake. I should have known that Edge was just using Vickie, like every other woman he's used in his life. When the guy outright told me that Vickie was nothing but a fat whore, that he only pretended to care about her so she'd give him easy matches and no title defenses, I was furious. I threatened to tell Vickie what Edge had told me, but he just gave me that stupid ass smile of his and said, rather coldly, that my aunt would never believe me because she was so infatuated with him. He had her wrapped around his finger and I knew that no matter what I said, she was going to defend him. I was backed into a corner, leaving me no other choice than to drop the issue.

Those two continued their sickening whirlwind romance, and even got married in July. Now, I will admit than when we formed La Familia, which consisted of myself, Vickie, Edge, Hawkins and Ryder, and Bam, the very first goal was to help me take the ECW Championship title away from CM Punk, which I accomplished. But then everything else, like helping me actually retain the title, was pushed to the side in favor of Edge. I can't tell you how many times I've thought about killing that guy. He's pompous, arrogant, dishonorable, and tasteless. We formed La Familia because that's what we were supposed to be—a family. It became apparent to all of us, even Hawkins and Ryder, Edge's best buddies, that it was less about La Familia and more about Edge. Family is supposed to help each other out, care about each other, and work together. Edge had no interest in that. All he cares about, all he's ever cared about since day 1, is himself. My poor aunt is caught in the middle of this, and she doesn't even know it because she's been blinded by that idiot's lies. Even after being presented with proof of him cheating on her, she still loves him. I, on the other hand, wish that he'd get out of our lives and let us be a family again.

Edge ruined my life. If he had never come into the picture, I might have become the WWE Champion. I would have finally gotten the recognition and the praise I deserve after all my hard work and dedication to the business. Once he swooped in like a vulture attacking its prey, though, I knew there was no hope of me ever getting that. My lifelong dreams were crushed in a matter of weeks. I wish I could go back to when it was just me and Vickie, when the two of us were trying to bring more honor to the Guerrero family name. Edge soiled it, and I'll never forgive him for that. I know that I have half the talent he does, but sadly, I'll never get to show it.

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**Thanks to my beautiful reviewers: **_And, Gabbi, Sunny, Vera, Kennedy's Friday Night Delight, Chic (awww, love you beyotch!), DefaultUser, J, Chantel, Dori, and Ash._

**I love ya'll!**


	5. Lust

**A/N: I'm amazed at the amount of reviews I've gotten for this story! Thank you all so much for continuing to read and review—it means the world to me that you take the time to leave me your thoughts! Please continue to do so, and don't forget to enjoy :)**

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_Chapter 4: Lust—Edge_

"_Lust's passion will be served; it demands, it militates, it tyrannizes."—Marquis de Sade_

We all know lust. We've all felt it, acted on it, or at least thought about acting on it. But has it actually consumed any of us? True, there are rare cases where lust has driven a few of us absolutely mad, to the point of complete insanity, but those cases are rare. In Adam Copeland's case, though, he was teetering on the fine line between insanity and normalcy. As each day passed, the lust inside of his heart began to grow more and more determined, aiming to reach the point where it would be able to consume him completely.

Anyone that knew Edge, whether as a close friend or simply just an acquaintance, understood that the man was passionate. However, his passion was not solely for the business he was in, professional wrestling. No, the blonde Canadian lived, breathed, ate, and slept passion. He had almost a lustful approach to each task in his everyday life, most notably in his personal one. The Toronto native had never allowed himself to be tied down for a long period of time, and quite frankly, he preferred it that way. To him, there was something exciting about having a different companion each day—it made him feel almost god-like, in a sense. With each passing day, his sexual appetite grew, until it reached its peak and Edge found himself in the situation where no matter how many women he had on his arm, no matter how many different ways he tried to spice up his sex life, it was never enough. Nothing could quell his massive appetite, and this was very disturbing.

It was his breakup with the Extreme Diva, Lita, that changed Edge's life for the worse. He'd never faced rejection in his life—girls had always jumped at the chance to spend a night with the Rated-R Superstar—so when he realized that Lita was about to dump him, he went ballistic. No one rejected Adam Copeland. In a mad rage, he'd tossed the redhead out of his house, changed all the locks on the door so that she couldn't back later if she changed her mind, and threw all her clothes out in the street.

As a way to get back at her for dumping him, Edge began seducing almost every woman he came in contact with, from his personal assistant, who was so disgusted by his behavior that she quit, and every ring rat that showed up to the SmackDown tapings. His friends, worried for him, begged him to go see a psychologist or sex therapist to deal with his unhealthy behavior, but Edge shrugged them off. Sex was just a natural, healthy act, right? How could it be an addiction? He was weary of therapists anyway—they charged 150 bucks an hour to "help" you out, when really all they did was point out your shortcomings and make you feel ashamed. Edge wasn't about to let some quack tell him that his sex life was unhealthy.

And so he continued down the sordid path of decadence, not caring a bit about his actions and the eventual ramifications of them. His daily routine of "different day, different girl" stayed the same, and even though he knew perfectly well that he had no intentions of making a commitment with any of the poor girls, he lied to them anyway and told them that he'd call, throwing away their phone numbers after they left. He left a trail of broken hearts in his path of debauchery, and God, he loved it. He never felt so alive during those moments where he claimed another body as his own, bringing himself and his conquest to an unbearable fever pitch of ecstasy. The moans, the sweats, the groans, they all drove Edge absolutely crazy.

But like the saying goes, nothing lasts forever, and even though Edge was "living in the moment", as he frequently insisted, his downfall was creeping up slowly. He was completely blind as to what was about to happen. All those years of carelessness caught up to him on one frigid Tuesday morning, when a knock came at his door.

The fragile young girl on the other side of the door stuttered and stammered as she tried to explain, through the tears that were pouring from her big green eyes, that she'd just taken a pregnancy test, which of course had come up positive. She blabbered on and on about how she was 100% sure that this child was Edge's, because he was the only man she'd ever been with, and what would she do when her parents found out, and on and on until Edge simply told her to get lost, that what she was telling him couldn't possibly be true—he'd always taken a very methodical approach during sex, always making sure he had a condom, always making sure that the girl was taking birth control. So it didn't matter what she said, that child was not his, and that he was not going to be scammed by some two-dollar tramp, who was trying to cash in on his fame.

Of course, the girl didn't leave without a fight. She pleaded for the Rated-R Superstar to hear her out. She wasn't trying to scam him, she insisted. All she wanted was for him to do the right thing, and support his unborn child. The red-haired woman stated over and over that she didn't want anything for herself. But Edge still vehemently denied the claim, and sent the woman back to her hotel.

The blonde man paced back and forth in his living room for several hours, trying to piece together the entire situation. _This can't be happening, this can't be happening, _he kept telling himself. _I'd never do something that stupid…I don't even want kids._ Try as he might, though, the Canadian had to admit that he had been quite careless lately. He'd been so caught up in his plan to try and quell his sexual appetite that he'd allowed lust to blind him and cloud his judgment. Now, he had no one to blame but himself for this unfortunate situation, and no one could help him out of it, either. He was paying the price for his actions, and once this child was brought into the world, he would have to do the right thing and support it.

Edge couldn't help wishing that he'd listened to the others now, and sought out help for what he now realized was an unhealthy sex addiction. But what's the saying? Too little, too late? Edge knew now exactly what those words meant. He'd waited too long to fix things, and now it was too late to even attempt to do so.

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**Thanks to Vera, Twinny, Gabbi, Kennedy's Friday Night Delight, Robin, Sunny, Ash, And, J, and Chic (get your butt back on here, LOL) for reviewing. I hope you enjoy the last two chapters as well! Love you all!**


	6. Greed

**A/N: I got a quick break from school work at the moment, so I decided to go ahead and post this now. Thank you all SO MUCH for sticking with this story. I'm elated that you've all enjoyed as much as you have. Please R&R :)**

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_Chapter 6: Greed—JBL_

_"Poverty wants some things, luxury many, avarice all things."—Abraham Cowley_

They say that money can't buy happiness. Well, let me assure you that that saying is indeed false. Before I became the wealthy man that I am today, I was just a wild-eyed kid from a small town in Texas. I grew up watching others pursue their dreams and gain success from them, while I struggled to find a job that would help put food on the table for me and my family. I lived from paycheck to paycheck, praying that I would never get the phone call telling me that "we're going to have to let you go." After a few years of working low-paying, dead end jobs that I knew were going to get me nowhere, I took matters into my own hands and started looking into getting a job that would provide for myself and a family, if and when I chose to start one.

Wrestling was the farthest thing from my mind, but after months and months of watching my football career go absolutely nowhere, I put aside my preconceptions about the sport and signed a contract with World Wrestling Entertainment (then the World Wrestling Federation). I haven't looked back since. I'll be the first to admit that I never envisioned wrestling as a full-time career, but even after I paid off all my debts and finally got to have everything I'd always wanted in the past, I continued to stick with the sport.

But even though I knew that this was something I wanted to stick with until my body could no longer handle it, I wasn't going to be totally dependent on Vince McMahon and the generous paychecks I received from his company. As a little boy, my daddy always stressed to me the importance of being careful and responsible, and to never take anything for granted. So I made sure to put a little over half of my paycheck in the bank each month, just in case I was released, or, God forbid, the company went under. At the time I became an employee of the WWE, the ratings war between them and WCW was still underway, and although Vince really had nothing to worry about in terms of WCW making a miraculous comeback, I still wanted to be safe. Nothing wrong with having a little bonus protection, right? I was not going to live out the rest of my life as a poor, pathetic degenerate, like the majority of most Americans today. I knew that the only way to ensure my financial safety was to take matters into my own hands. I don't buy the argument that poor people can't do anything about their situation. Poor people are poor because they choose to be. I invested in the stock market, opened up my own company, and became richer than I ever imagined I would in my wildest dreams.

Some people say that money can change you. I'll be the first to admit that it's changed me, but not in a negative way. Being rich has opened my eyes to the way life really is. Every day, I walk down the street and I see these pathetic homeless people, with their tattered clothes and their empty plastic cups, begging for money. But it's not money they really want, it's pity. They want someone to have mercy on them and open their pockets to them. I walk right by them. No one ever gave me anything in life; I'm damn sure not going to help anyone else out. Call me cold, call me greedy if you want, but people will take advantage of you if you show the slightest sign of weakness. I can't stand moochers, and that's exactly what homeless people are.

John Bradshaw Layfield may be a son of a bitch—it's nothing I haven't heard people say before—but if you're going to call me a son of a bitch, there's one word you need to put in front of it when you're talking about me, and that's the word rich. John Bradshaw Layfield is one rich son of a bitch. People would die to be me for a day, hell, for even just a minute. I'm the richest Superstar in the WWE, and at the end of the day, it doesn't matter if I'm a champion or not. Even the highest paid Superstar on the roster pales in comparison to me, money-wise. It feels damn good to be JBL.

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**So I know this one wasn't the best, but it's hard to write JBL. I tried my hardest…don't be too harsh with your reviews. One chapter left! Oh, and if you haven't checked out my Jeria fic, feel free to do so :)**


	7. Sloth

**A/N: Well, here we are at last. To everyone who read and reviewed, you're awesome and I thank you so much. It's nice to know that some of you actually take the time to review this, instead of just adding it to the faves/alert list and not even bothering to leave me your opinion. I'm thrilled you all enjoyed this, and again, thank you for reading! **

**A big thanks goes to Robbells (Rhiannon Leigh Black) for suggesting JBL for the last chapter.**

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_Chapter 7: Sloth—Matt Hardy_

"_Idle hands are the Devil's workshop"—Unknown_

"MATTHEW MOORE HARDY!"

The former ECW champion cringed at the unnaturally high shrill of his girlfriend, Missy Leigh's, voice. The two of them had been living together for four years now, and he knew her well enough to know that that particular tone of voice equaled trouble for him. He sighed and ran his palm over his face, trying to think of what he could have possibly done this time to make her mad.

"Yes, Missy?" he questioned, as he slid around in the large recliner chair he was currently positioned in, meeting Missy's gaze with his eyes. Missy's hands were on her hips and her blonde hair was askew, several strands falling across her face as she spoke. After four years of living with Matt, Missy was beginning to think that maybe it was time for them to go their separate ways. After all, Matt didn't do anything to help out around the house anymore, literally _nothing_. A typical day for Matt Hardy consisted of sleeping till three or four in the afternoon, raiding the refrigerator and pigging out until he was absolutely full, watching TV for a little bit, and then going back to bed again. It was a constant, never-ending cycle for Missy and Matt. And frankly, the Canadian woman was sick of it.

"Don't 'yes Missy' me, Mister," she hissed, quite aggravated. "You promised me that you were going to clean up the house before I got home from work today." Missy pointed an accusatory finger in the face of the dark haired North Carolinian. "Look at this house, it's filthy." She motioned to the endless pile of paper plates and plastic cups that were strewn around the house. "What's wrong with you, Matthew?"

He simply shrugged, not ready to have this conversation again. It seemed like no matter what he did, he always caught flack from the blonde Canadian. He'd worked his ass off for the better part of twelve years—didn't he deserve a little rest and relaxation. So he spent most of his days sleeping and eating. So what? After all the bumps he took, the bruises that covered his body, and the life-threatening injuries he'd sustained, wasn't it only right that he take some time off? Was he really being lazy? Matt didn't think so. In his opinion, Missy just wanted something to bitch at him about. She was just bitchy by nature anyway.

"Mel, I told you, I can't do any kind of physical labor until my foot heals," Matt began. "And even if I could, bitching at me probably isn't the best way to get me to do work." He relaxed against the couch, stretching his back muscles out. "Besides, it's not like you work _that hard_. Try working for 270 plus days a year."

Missy rolled her eyes in disgust. Where was the hard-working, give-everything-his-all man that she'd fallen in love with? She swept her eyes across the small living room and fought back a grunt. The room was filthy, and Missy knew that the upstairs area would be just as disheveled. Matt couldn't seem to realize how lazy and complacent he'd become over time—when they first started dating, he was the perfect boyfriend, always cleaning up, insisting that Missy had enough to deal with at work. He would always cook the meals, and the two of them had date nights at least once a month. A tear slipped out of Missy's eye as she realized a harsh truth that hadn't come to her attention until now: Matt was even too "tired—really, it was just laziness—to be affectionate anymore. Gone were the sweet gestures Matt had once shown, like rubbing the back of Missy's neck and kissing her forehead. Matt always complained that he wasn't "in the mood anymore", and even though she let it go every night because she didn't want to start an argument, Missy was very hurt by Matt's words. She felt like she wasn't attractive to him anymore, when that wasn't even the issue at all. The downfall of Matt was slowly emanating, day by day, and there wasn't a thing that Missy, Jeff, Shannon, or Gregory could do about it. The only person that could save Matt was Matt. But because he didn't realize the severity of the issue, Matt continued to trudge along the path, not even realizing what he was doing to his friends and his family.

"What…" Missy started to say, but closed her mouth quickly. Almost every conversation she had with Matt now ended in an argument, and after working all day with screaming children, she just didn't have the strength for it. The Canadian wished that there was some way that she could make Matt see what he'd become and the path that he was headed down, but if Jeff couldn't accomplish anything, how could she? Their relationship was deteriorating quickly because of Matt's lack of enthusiasm and lack of desire to straighten up.

"You know what, I'm going to Jeff's to visit for a while," the blonde stated, as she grabbed her car keys and her purse off the nearest table that wasn't filled with junk. She was very close with Jeff's girlfriend, Kaylah, and Missy knew that at least over there, she could vent her frustrations without having an argument in response. It wasn't like Matt was going to miss her, anyway. He'd just sleep most of the day, wake up, eat a little bit, and then fall asleep with the food in his lap. Missy looked over her shoulder before she left, at least expecting some sort of response. But, just as she'd predicted, Matt was now asleep, his usual dinner of steak and potatoes placed on a plate in his lap.

_If only the fans could see this, _Missy thought sadly, closing the door behind her and locking it in the deadbolt. Most women would kill to be with Matt Hardy—too bad they didn't know that the real Matt Hardy was a lazy, disgusting, boring pig. Missy hadn't known herself, but now she did—and that meant that sooner or later, she was going to have to decide whether or not being with him was worth it any longer.

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**I apologize for any errors/typos..I typed this on the couch, with my laptop in my lap. I managed to break my tail bone the other day, and lying down is the only way I'm comfortable. LOL. Anyway, you guys rock for reading and reviewing this!**


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